


Contravene

by guineaDogs



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Rescue Missions, superheroes as a corporate business, typical level of violence for this sort of au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 22:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30062784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs
Summary: When Shiro, famed superhero-turned-poster boy of the corporation that has privatized superheroes and their interests, learns of a crash during a press briefing, his world comes to a standstill. There's processes and protocols he's supposed to adhere to, goals and priorities to keep in mind. But none of that matters — Keith may be in danger, and rescuing his boyfriend is the only thing he cares about.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	Contravene

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece ages ago for Lionhearted, a Hero Sheith zine and I'm happy to finally share this with you all! The inspiration here was a mix of Marvel and the Boys (Amazon), but familiarity with them is unnecessary. The knowledge that someone would try to capitalize on superheroes etc given the opportunity is enough. Hope you enjoy!

Cameras flash in front of Shiro as he stands in front of a podium. There are countless mics affixed to the faux-wood frame, and each mic bears a different logo for various news outlets. Some of them are national, others international. There's a few he doesn't recognize, and for a moment he idly wonders what organization they’re with. It could be an independent media company or an online one for all he knows. That leads his thoughts down another path; will the reporting be biased? With what slant? 

_Focus, Shirogane._

He's here for a press conference, to allow himself to be used in the cog of propaganda and morale in the midst of what's essentially an unauthorized war. Though whether it can be called a war is a matter of semantics—there's not a recognized government behind G.A.L.R.A. as far as any intelligence agency has been able to suss out. Rather, it's shadow organizations, something cryptic and there's more that is unknown than known.

What is known, what is privy to high ranking governmental and military leaders—and those who are like _him_ —is that G.A.L.R.A. has harnessed something more powerful than the existing nuclear stockpiles the Garrison has, even some of the warheads that hadn’t been decommissioned some decades ago. They're a threat, and they've made that perfectly clear with the numerous guerilla attacks directed at various points of interests.

Shiro can't talk about that, however. He can't talk about the whens and wheres, the hows, or the number of casualties involved in the attacks. It's his job to reassure the public that everything is fine, everything is going to be fine. That's why he exists, after all—not only to protect the public from threats, but to protect them from knowing those threats exist. Both are things he is well equipped to handle: he has the speed and strength that normal humans don't possess. But in the onslaught of corporate control of the ‘ _specially abled,_ ’ he's essentially become as useless as a figurehead. It's all about hearts and minds, about keeping the public comfortable and complacent. The rest is not up to him. His hands, and his image, can't be sullied.

He just needs to read from the teleprompter, offer the public a warm smile, and answer a couple questions as vaguely as possible.

"Thank you all for joining me this morning," he says in a genial tone. Shiro isn't an orator, but he's earnest and honest, and that makes up for what he lacks. "I am here to offer you, the public, an update on the matter of the G.A.L.R.A. insurgency in Naxzela." Shiro pauses. He can read ahead enough to see the white lies he's about to speak. They're mercies, perhaps. Is it not better to be able to live with the faith that those who are stronger, more powerful, are taking care of the dangerous burdens no civilian can bear? 

"You may have seen raw footage on various social media outlets that showed incidents of significant damage to the Naxzelan capitol.” Shiro pauses once more, pretending that it’s solely for the punctuation that necessitates it, and not because of insider knowledge of what actually happened there. “Rest assured that those extreme levels of violence and destruction were isolated incidents. Thanks to the collaboration between military forces and AlteaCorp, there is no longer any threat to Naxzelan sovereignty.” 

In his mind’s eye, he can clearly recall the footage he’d seen from soldier body cams: a collapsing building, billowing dust as civilians ran for their lives in no particular direction other than _away._ From the rubble, a figure shrouded in purple light rose into the air, with what appeared to be high voltage beams emanating from their hands, casting a web of carnage that inevitably led to the camera footage cutting out abruptly.

Shiro continues reading the prepared statement with more platitudes, and when he finishes, he smiles once more. "I have just a moment to answer questions." Immediately, the press room erupts in chatter. Some questions are yelled, but with journalist after journalist attempting to speak over each other, the cacophony of noise sounds like only that. Rather than attempting to parse out any of it, he gestures toward a journalist in his vicinity. She's on the shorter side, and could easily blend in with the crowd. There's a certain sort of fire in her determined expression that reminds Shiro of someone else, and that's enough to call on her.

"Captain Shirogane, can you comment on the plane crash in Daibazaal?"

Shiro frowns. "Pardon?"

"A military-issued jet was shot down in Daibazaal." She repeats. She must be wearing an earpiece, based on how she leans her ear into her free hand. "—fifteen minutes ago. ZNN is reporting that it's 250 miles southwest from the Naxzelan border."

His mouth goes dry. In another situation, a plane crash so far away from a border wouldn’t be worth mentioning. But Shiro is aware that she switched between using _plane crash_ and _shot down_. It could be a slip of the tongue, but this isn’t Shiro’s first rodeo, and he knows any journalist worth their salt knows the implications from such a word choice. 

A plane crashing in an area relatively near unrest—in an area where they’d feared G.A.L.R.A. forces would flee into—with intent or otherwise is news to him, but it's not something he could speak on even if he knew about it. This is something that would have happened just prior to his coming out here to deliver this statement. The fact that the public news is already aware of it, and that he hasn't been pulled out of the room is concerning, but more than that—

He has a very informed guess of who was on that plane, and where they were going. His stomach drops. "I'm afraid I can't comment on that." It's not the answer any of the journalists want to hear, and the room erupts once more as he waves them off. As he makes his exit, it takes all of his resolve to remain composed and not _bolt._

The press room opens into an elegant hall. The entire building is lavishly decorated, as any building that profits from and houses supers can be expected to be. Just out of view is the turn in the hall that leads to the elevators that can only be accessed and utilized with approved credentials.

His handprint is scanned, and as soon as the doors open, Shiro all but stumbles inside as the gravity of this news hits him. A Garrison jet, in that particular location... As he leans against the elevator railing, he fishes for his phone. There's a plethora of notifications, sure, and rationally he knows that he almost _never_ hears from his boyfr—his _sidekick,_ as far as the public knows _—_ when he's taking on any sort of independent work, but Shiro can't help the compulsion to check anyway.

He knows not to expect any sort of communication, and there isn't any. The knowledge that this is _normal_ doesn't change the growing worry that something is dreadfully wrong. He doesn't know the details of this particular operation, either, which only allows his mind to run rampant with _what ifs._

He’s gotten used to being privy to more information than most of the others would. After all, he’s the head of the Paladins–the collective name given to the ‘main’ superheroes that AlteaCorp employs–and is practically the face of AlteaCorp as a whole. People tell him the things he wants to know, and he feels he surely has at least some influence. But in this case, Keith had merely offered him an apologetic smile when Shiro had returned to their shared living quarters to see him packing a black duffel bag to take with him on a mission that Shiro didn’t even know he was preparing for. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him; ever since Shiro’s work veered into publicity and less front lines, Keith sought out his need for proper action elsewhere. He'd promised to tell Shiro all about it when he was back, and with a sweet goodbye kiss, Keith left their penthouse.

That was days ago.

He needs answers—he needs the _truth_ —and he cannot get it quickly enough. As soon as the elevator chimes, he steps out into another elaborately designed corridor. Much of AlteaCorps looks this way—opulent designs with glimmer and glam, with staff always rushing about in business formal attire. Or, in the case the Supers, in their corporate-approved uniform.

Different sets of floors serve different purposes. Lower levels of the tower hold conference rooms, merchandise stores, exhibits open to the public that showcase decommissioned superhero artifacts. Others are dedicated to research and development. Above those are floors the corporate offices. Then, at the top of the 100-floor tower, there are the floors reserved for the Paladins: their private housing, meeting rooms, training arenas, everything they could need on a day-to-day basis.

The floor Shiro is on now is a corporate floor, and he doesn't need to follow signage to find the office he's looking for. There's only one person here who has the information he's needing. It's just a matter getting him to _spill it._

Shiro doesn't knock to announce his arrival, nor does he pay any mind to the receptionist who timidly suggests that he wait, as _Mr. Kolivan is on a call._ Instead, he shoulders his weight against the heavy door and enters the office. There's a couch and bookshelves in addition to the stately desk Kolivan sits behind, but unlike the offices of many of the others on this floor, the decorating is otherwise sparse and utilitarian.

Kolivan, a rather large man who had seen plenty of action in his heyday, merely raises a brow at him. "I'll call you back," he says, not waiting another moment before pressing a button to end the conversation. "Can I help you with something, Shirogane?" His words are gruff, lacking any sort of pleasantry as one might expect when intruding unannounced like this. 

"Where is he?" Shiro strides toward Kolivan's desk, but refrains from sitting in one of the seats in front of it.

"You're going to have to be more specific."

Sometimes, he's certain that Kolivan likes to give him a hard time for the hell of it. There's only so many people Shiro would barge in for like this, and they both know it. " _Keith._ Is he okay? I heard from a reporter that–"

Kolivan dismisses the inquiry with a wave of his hand. "Everything is fine."

Shiro grips the edge of the desk, his knuckles white as he attempts to ground himself. ‘ _Everything is fine’_ sounds just like the lies and half truths he just spewed in favor of protecting the general public from fear and worry. Something _he_ doesn't need protection from. "A Garrison jet was gunned down. Don't tell me that everything is _fine._ " The snarl in his words happens without his awareness. "What did you get my _boyfriend_ into?"

The tension rises, and Shiro can feel his frustration escalating quickly. Normally he's more reserved, more able to keep his temper in check. But he's worried about Keith, and all of his concerns are being met with Kolivan's cool, unaffected demeanor.

"Do you not trust me with my own nephew's well-being? He's trained his entire life for missions such as this. Everything is going _according to plan._ "

Objectively, Shiro knows this to be true. Keith is close to his uncle, and Kolivan, a covert ops specialist, began passing on his knowledge and expertise to Keith long before the couple had even met. That doesn't make it an easier pill to swallow. "Tell me what it is. Please."

"Keith's particular mission is on a need to know basis, and you are not among those who need to know." Kolivan holds a steady gaze as Shiro balks.

"Seriously? Kolivan, I'm–"

"Contracted through AlteaCorp," Kolivan cuts him off. "Which, despite the partnership AlteaCorp has with the Blade, _is not part of the Blade._ "

This is one of the side effects that privatization of superhero- and the overall _fighting villainy-_ oriented industries has caused: Shiro being unable to get any sort of detailed information about Keith's whereabouts and safety because only some missions are collaborative efforts with the Garrison, AlteaCorp, and the Blade. Other times, particularly the messier, arguably more dangerous tasks the Blade takes on, are not shared. At most, when a mission ends, Kolivan will confirm their successes, or general updates. The nature of the organization is as such that though objectives tend to align, more detailed things are seldom shared.

“If something happens to Keith, I’ll–”

“No. I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen: you’re going to go back upstairs, lift weights or whatever it is you do, and stay out of this. I’ll have your head if you compromise the integrity of this mission.”

Shiro opens his mouth to speak, but closes it without saying anything. Sometimes, directly defying orders is something that he struggles with, but in this case his immediate acquiescence is merely a ruse. One, he hopes, that Kolivan doesn’t catch onto.

* * *

Shiro isn't without resources.

In the privacy of his apartment, he finds the same raw footage repeating on ZNN: an aerial shot above a forest with black smoke billowing into the sky. Presumably, a drone recorded this, and from a distance it is able to make it halfway around the impact site before it's hit by something. The drone starts to fall, and as the camera spins faster and faster on its descent, Shiro turns off the television.

Seeing what information the public has access to is important, but it's not enough to give him the full picture he needs to formulate. That’s what AlteaCorp’s resources are for. He has access to all it–or he _should._ After all, being the face of the corporation had to come with some kind of benefit beyond a luxury apartment and only the guise of a private life. 

Access and finding the information he needs are two different things. He has a network laptop with his own account, but he’s barely made any headway when he hits a roadblock. It’s fortuitous that little time is wasted between when he makes that realization and when his apartment door slides open. From his spot hunched over his coffee table, he sees Pidge simply _let themselves in._

If there’s ever a reason for conventional hardwood doors, it would be to keep someone out who could otherwise merely ask the doors to open. 

“I know what you’re doing,” they say, to which Shiro scowls. Before he can retort with a demand for them not to inform anyone else, they add: “I want to help.”

* * *

The moment the two of them have a semblance of a plan formed, Shiro’s in the air, flying a jet that’s significantly faster than the ones the military has access to – sure, they work collaboratively at times, but what good is a superhero if they aren’t on the scene first? – with Pidge in his earpiece. As he flies, they are able to pinpoint the G.A.L.R.A. location Keith targeted in his mission. 

The coordinates show up on the translucent screen that doubles as a front window to the jet. A flashing ‘x’ indicates the location of the target, and with each passing second the screen shows the jet as being closer and closer to the target. 

As he travels closer and closer, he can feel more and more adrenaline coursing through his veins. He's practically vibrating in anticipation. He switches to stealth mode well before he makes it into anywhere near G.A.L.R.A. controlled areas, lest they be prematurely alerted to his presence. His descent comes in seemingly no time at all, and he's able to find a safe place to land in a wooded area close enough to the target.

Pidge was only able to find a little information about it, but what they were able to find echoes in Shiro's mind as he makes the last leg of his journey on foot.

_"It's a research facility," they told him. "None of the machines on this server or any other that I could reach know what they're researching exactly, but the energy readings for that whole area are off the charts. That facility is at the epicenter."_

_"Weaponry of some kind then," Shiro deduced. He had a bad feeling about this._

_"Seems that way. I have no idea what the details of the Blade mission are. Knowing them, it probably doesn't exist in writing at all." That was often how they operated – everything was need-to-know to the point where the most sensitive information was only ever disseminated verbally with those who could be trusted._

Right now, Shiro's certain it ultimately doesn't matter what the goals are. As far as he's concerned, this is now a rescue mission.

But then, he's coming to an abrupt halt as the makeshift path he's taken comes to an overlook of the facility. There's sirens, flashing lights, and armed fighters scurrying around the building. It looks like chaos, as if they were caught unaware by _something._

He can only hope that Keith, and anyone else on this mission are at the advantage. But he needs to have a better idea of what the status of things are inside before he proceeds.

Shiro clears his mind and steadies his breathing. His abilities are honed skills, perfected over decades of training, but they still are easiest to tap into when he's in a particular state. _Patience yields focus._

This time, when he looks at the building, he can see through the walls. He can see the sirens flashing in the halls, the armed G.A.L.R.A. troops running deeper into the facility and—

And now he knows exactly where he needs to go.

Stealth is no longer a priority as he jumps into the air, flying at top speed toward the roof of the facility. Of course, he could have done this the entire time, but using the jet ensured that he was able to conserve all of his energy for when he needed it the most: now. It also ensures that there would be plenty of space for rescuing any of his allies who need it.

The soles of his boots hit the roof with a _clack_. Not to waste any more time, he rips off a ventilation hatch with such intensity that it rips a hole in the roof, opening up a spot for him to jump straight down into the room below. Fortunately, no one is in there, and it gives him a moment to assess it.

Everything about the room screams _evil villain science lair_ , all the way down to the utilitarian metal walls and high tech equipment that he can't begin to understand the function of. The chairs are overturned and the room is in overall disarray. Whoever was in here left quickly, but Shiro can't say whether it's due to whatever sent the facility into chaos, or if it has anything to do with the purple-white ball of energy pulsating in the air in the next room over.

It's visible through a window on the wall separating the two rooms. The window itself looks like plexiglass, but Shiro has a sneaking suspicion that it's probably reinforced with something much more sturdy, as it seems to withstand the occasional bolts of energy that burst from the main core of energy.

Whatever G.A.L.R.A. is up to, it centers around this. It _has_ to. Whatever it is, it's powerful. Shiro can feel it wash over him like a wave of miasma, and by that alone he knows it's the exact sort of thing that is disastrous to be in enemy hands.

He needs to find Keith. _Keith, Keith, Keith,_ but he doesn't have it in him to rush out of this room just yet. Not without looking over the machines in hopes of finding a way to turn it off. Before he can pinpoint it, he hears the hydraulic _whoosh_ of doors opening and closing.

Shiro turns on his heels, on the defensive and ready to take on whatever adversary he's facing only to see a familiar skin-tight black and purple uniform and mask that hides any identifying features. Except Shiro knows the Blades well enough to recognize the different members based on build alone.

"Keith?"

If the height and build hadn't been a dead giveaway, the body language and gait used as Keith approaches him is. Shiro can't see his expression, but he can hear the confusion clearly enough in his voice that Shiro can imagine his knitted brows and frown perfectly. "Why are you here, Shiro?"

There's chaos happening all around them, but it doesn't stop them from taking a moment to embrace. They hold onto each other firmly, and though he can't comb his fingers through Keith's hair as he'd like to right then, he cradles the back of Keith's helmet anyway.

"Your plane crashed. It was all over the news, and I–" Shiro shakes his head, not wanting to voice just how worried he was.

"Oh, Shiro." Emotion seeps into Keith's words, and as he pulls away, Shiro feels his absence keenly. But physical contact can wait. He needs Keith to be safe first. "That was a diversion. We parachuted well before setting that up."

That doesn't make Shiro feel any better. It takes everything to reign in his desire to demand to know _why_ that was even a risk they were taking which, even as he thinks it, sounds ridiculous. Every aspect of their job is risky. Shiro just needs to get a better handle of his overprotective streak.

"Right," he says finally, after a beat too long. Keith doesn't seem to notice, as he's removed his helmet and already moved on to punching in a sequence on one of the machines. Moments after he finishes, there’s a loud _whirr_ as the machines power down. Shiro follows him into the next room, where there’s no longer a massive ball of unstable energy, but instead a palm-sized fragment of some kind, iridescent like a clam shell. 

“All of _that_ came from...that?” Shiro inquires ineloquently, far too blown away by the sheer power something so small is capable of. It takes little imagination to think of the numerous ways it could be used not only in the wrong hands, but theirs as well. 

Keith takes the utmost care in placing the fragment in a small black bag that Shiro recognizes as one developed to nullify dangerous properties of things kept within it. “It’s called quintessence,” Keith explains as he carefully continues his work, eventually putting the bag in his pocket. “It’s more powerful than anything we possess. Don’t know where they acquired it, but Kolivan’s thinking that–” 

The sound of the doors opening again cuts him off. Several pairs of footsteps give away that they’re outnumbered before they even see the armed soldiers file into view. They’re yelling, firing warning shots, but Shiro’s focus is on Keith. He barely registers what they’re saying—how can he, when Keith’s cracking his neck and stretching his arms overhead like he always does when he’s preparing for a fight. 

“Like old times?” Shiro asks, finally getting himself in a stance to fight. It’s been a while since he's done anything more than spar as part of his workout regimen, but he’s more than confident that some militarized fringe group won’t be a challenge for him. 

Keith smirks, something bright and beautiful. “If you think you can keep up, Old Timer.” 

* * *

It _is_ just like old times. Fighting with Keith by his side is a familiar song and dance. They weave around each other, delivering well-aimed punches and kicks to their foes. It’s invigorating and exciting, especially after they’ve _won._ They’re surrounded by groaning, incapacitated bodies as Keith talks into his ear piece. Shiro’s buzzing as adrenaline courses through his veins. Why did he ever distance himself from front lines missions? Fighting bad guys is _fun._

“We’re good to go.” 

“And the others?” Shiro knows Keith didn’t come alone, but he also hasn’t seen any of them here since his arrival. The facility is large, but it doesn’t feel right to leave without them. That’s not how _he_ ever ran things.

But the Blade isn’t his team. 

“They’re accounted for.” Shiro understands the meaning between the lines: the success of the mission mattered more than their individual lives. It’s cut-throat, but it comes with the territory for their work. He must be making a face though, because Keith frowns at him, and clarifies: “They’re already on their way out, Shiro.”

That puts Shiro’s concerns at ease, and once Keith wraps his arms around his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, Shiro’s arms wrap around him. He pushes off the ground in ease, taking the same route out that he used to get in. 

Keith’s long hair blows elegantly in the wind as they rise up, leaving behind billows of black smoke and smoldering embers, very clear evidence of the work the other Blade members got to while Keith obtained the quintessence. 

As soon as they’re on the jet, they settle into the pilot and co-pilot seats. Keith reports to Kolivan, who upon seeing Shiro beside him frowns deeply, but says nothing about it. Instead the conversation remains focused on the success of the mission. 

There’s still much they don’t know about quintessence, or the full extent of G.A.L.R.A.’s plans. Shiro is sure they’ve put a wrench in the aforementioned plans today, but this won’t be the last time they have to face them, either. 

Perhaps it’s something to be concerned about, but Shiro opts to delegate that task to his future self. Right now, the only thing that matters is that Keith is beside him, smiling at him like they’re the only two people in the universe.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hmu on twitter @/guineadogs! i'm always down to talk sheith


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